


Roger Suffers

by GreatFuckingMaracas



Series: Death and Angels [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Freddie is an arsehole in this one, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Sad Ending, Sad Roger Taylor (Queen), Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28553001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatFuckingMaracas/pseuds/GreatFuckingMaracas
Summary: After finding out his boyfriend cheated again, Roger can’t go on with life.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: Death and Angels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093925
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Roger Suffers

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags before reading this. This is my first just straight up angst fanfic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the character nor do I believe Freddie was an awful person who cheats.

**1987**  
It doesn't hurt anymore. He’s numb now. Past relationships never made him feel the need to do it. He’s had depression for years but never allowed himself to do this, but it was the only way out.

Four years of lies. Four years of cheating. Four years of a loveless romance. 

Did the fucker realise that Roger forgave and gave him a second chance? They promised to communicate and try better. Not repeat what happened three years ago. 

—  
**1984**  
_“You’re late,” Roger muttered while sitting in his chair in the living room facing the television that was on a wooden stand._

_He’d been up all night waiting for Freddie to come back from the club and into his arms. It was past midnight, two hours late, and he sat in the dark waiting for his boyfriend to walk through the door._

_“Sorry, darling,” Freddie whispered back with a strain in his voice._

_Obviously, he was hiding something but Roger had a problem with accusing people of things they didn’t do. He kept quiet and accepted the hug Freddie pulled him into. He took a deep breath to be calmed by his lover’s scent only to smell a cologne too strong to be either of theirs._

_He pushed him back and his chest began heaving immediately, “What the fuck! Freddie, fucking swear to me that you didn’t do it!” Tears began to well up in his cerulean eyes._

_Freddie already knew what he was talking about because he kept quiet._

_“Freddie!”_

_In the dark of the room, Roger saw him nod slightly. That was all he needed for an answer._

_“Get the fuck out!”_

_He didn’t see Freddie until a week later. The vulnerability and begging of forgiveness painted the brown eyes Roger fell in love with._

_He did forgive him._

—  
God, he wishes he didn’t. Because now, he was lying in the bathtub in his flat. Cold blade against his warm skin. Both slick with blood. He wonders if Freddie will come back again. It’s been a couple days. 

He found his boyfriend in their bed with another. Both sober and knew what was happening. Not that he’d excuse him for doing it while drunk. Maybe he would. Freddie Mercury. The man he’s been with for four years was off fucking other men for god knows how long. He should’ve listened to John. 

Sweet, quiet John Deacon dated Freddie back in ‘81 but ended it in early 1982 after finding out from a friend that he committed infidelity. He warned the blond to not date him.

 _‘It’ll always end in heartbreak if you are dating Freddie’_ as the younger man put it.

He should’ve listened.

“Why are you always right, Deacky!” he screamed to no one. 

There the pain was. It hit him. The question that he asked ever since the first time it happened. 

_Was I not good enough for Freddie?_

According to Brian and John only a few days ago, he deserved the world. That didn’t matter, though, because evidently his boyfriend didn’t think so. They were gonna get married when it was legalised. They wore matching gold wedding bands.

Fuck love.

He lazily glanced down to his arm. There were scars and opened wounds. He was bleeding out. 

_Good. What’s life for if no one wants you, anyway?_

He already left three letters. Each was assigned to a certain member of Queen. 

He became drowsy and a goofy smile played on his pink lips. So this is what it feels like to begin dying. He watched his arm a little longer before trailing his glossy blue eyes to his fingers. The tips were a light grey. After years of taking biology, he knew this was a sign of dying. Being a biologist came handy in this situation. He knew the right places to cut for an easier death. 

He felt awful for many reasons. He was leaving his friends and lover. His love would come home to his dead body in their tub. The water would be even more bloody red than it already was. The funeral would be just horrific. 

His parents and sister coming to see him. All prettied up in a light blue tux. Would they put makeup on his face? He hopes not. 

His bandmates would have to speak in front of a group of people. Bawling their eyes out. They better find a new drummer. He didn’t want to be the one to ruin Queen. 

All of a sudden, he felt calm. Nothing could hurt him anymore. No pain. 

His feet were a purplish colour. He was losing control of his body and that was the goal. He was okay with dying now. Whenever he ended up, if there was an afterlife, would be better than this hellhole called Earth. 

He had one pray: Freddie can’t come home until Roger was dead. He didn’t want to feel the sensation of Freddie heaving him out of the warm water to be hit with cold air. He didn’t want to hear the sirens of an ambulance that wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time. He wanted to leave the planet with peace. 

Crystal blue eyes were covered by pale heavy eyelids. The moment Roger went to sleep would be the moment he wouldn’t hear Freddie’s sweet laughter, Brian’s guitar solos, or John’s comforting words. 

_Oh shit!_

He fucked up big time. There was no time to fix this. A bloody arm was hanging from the side of the white porcelain with a razor blade in hand. Sleep was at the tips of his discoloured hands. After convincing himself it’d be better to die, Roger is still wishing to undo this decision. Of course, he’d leave with regret and panic. 

“Someone help me,” he moaned in agonising pain before blackness took over him, and he slumped against the cold material. 

—  
“Roger!” Freddie helplessly called after opening the flimsy black door of the flat he and his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend inhabited, “I’m sorry! I’m an arsehole! I deserve whatever is coming to me!”

He walked through the home. He miserably looked at the framed pictures on the burlap walls. His favourite one now had a crack in the glass. 

It was Freddie on Roger’s back as the younger man took a picture with an old Polaroid. They were smiling, showing their pearly whites. 

He stumbled into the bedroom and noticed the light pouring through the slit at the bottom of the bathroom door. Before he got a chance to see who was in the room, Freddie noticed the letters on Roger’s bed stand. He gently picked up the papers. The name of one bandmate was scribbled on the top of a letter. Curiosity got the best of him and Freddie began to read the letter with his name.

_Dear Freddie, my love,_

_If you are reading this, I’ve taken my life or you came back too early. If I’m already gone, it was because I was miserable with this god awful world. I took the little life I had left when I found you with another man. I hated you at first, but I gave up. I can’t hate someone for not loving me like I love them. Please, don’t beat yourself up about this. I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. So many men could have you. I never stood a chance. It’d make me happy if you went on with a lovely boyfriend who can be fulfilling to you in every way. Find the others. Give them their letters._

_All love, Roger Taylor, your bandmate, lover, husband_

_P.S. I’m in the bathroom. I’m so sorry._

Tears cascaded down Freddie’s red face. He did this to the love of his life. Roger was suicidal from the beginning, but the older man ignored it. He went off with others only to push his blond boyfriend to a fate no one should deal with. He swiftly opened the door to the bathroom. Light spilled out and an image, now engraved in his mind, laid in front of him. 

Roger was pale but also looked bruised. Possibly an affect on his thin body when he passed. His left arm was drenched in blood as well as the once clear water. Freddie let out a sob at the state of his boyfriend. He looked so peaceful but pain was behind all that. The singer would never get over what he had done to his precious darling. He crumpled to the tile floor and crawled to the other man. Carefully, he held the angelic face in his hands one last time, giving him a soft kiss on the cold forehead. 

“I’m sorry. I love you,” Freddie whispered into nothingness. 

He clumsily stood and grabbed the letters that fell to the carpeted floor of the bedroom. He made it his mission to give the messages to Brian and John. They had to know. He couldn’t hurt them by keeping this from them any longer. 

Freddie picked up the keys off the dinner table and trudged out the door. Letters in hand. 

_For Roger._


End file.
